


A Terrible Thing

by Squigenny (PaxJax)



Category: Laverne & Shirley (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gay Panic, High School, M/M, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29621238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxJax/pseuds/Squigenny
Summary: High school hierarchies, cruel pranks, and broken hearts propel Lenny and Squiggy to logical conclusions. But it's never that simple. And with enough time and effort, feelings bottle up just fine...of course they do.
Relationships: Lenny Kosnowski/Andrew "Squiggy" Squiggman
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue: Where We Are

**Author's Note:**

> If you've seen me around, hello! (If so, I suspect you won't be surprised by the directions my L&S fics take.) This is a *complete* rehash of a story I wrote 20 years ago. A couple of notes: A) "chose not to use archive warnings" means consensual senior high school sexual encounters (thus questionable ages), nothing else. B) Explicit rating is for later chapters.

"Fuck that joint, I ain't never goin' back there!"

An apartment door _slammed_ as feet stomped the short distance towards a dirty fridge…beer. He grabbed a cold-enough bottle, then thought better of it. He quickly grabbed a second bottle. Alcohol and plenty of it, kill more brain cells, he didn’t need ‘em. 'Can't feel pain when ya kill the brain.' He'd heard that somewhere. His old man, probably.

Clearing off a cluttered table with a swift arm and collapsing to an only slightly wobbly chair, he allowed then the longest, saddest, most pitiful of cries to escape his lips.

The door creaked back open then, slowly. "Ya slammed the door in my face, Squig."

Crying? Who was crying? Squiggy sat as tall as he possibly could, which wasn't very tall. "Oh, I did, I slammed it, huh?" His next swig of beer was a touch aggressive. Bottle more than half empty, he thrust it firm against the table, then checked it quickly for damages. Relieved, he ran a hand against greased hair, sputtering in contemplation.

"Ah, come…c'mon, it coulda been way worse." 

"Coulda been worse?! _Coulda been worse?_ " His approach was abrupt. He knocked his chair straight over, rushing the figure poised against the door. Hands shoved, sending Lenny into hard wood with a solid thud. "Coulda been worse, Len?!"

"Okay, alright!!" Lenny winced down pain and a compulsion to shove Squiggy back. _Not tonight, not right now._ "I heard ya the first time, ya don't gotta keep sayin' it. I know it was bad tonight, but I…” He grasped a drifting arm. “Don't walk away, huh?"

"Coulda been worse, he says!" Squiggy’s sneer was audible as he shook loose his arm, walking a mindless, quickening circle. "Y'know, I could still go back to ma's apartment, I don't have to take this from the likes of you."

"You can't do that," replied Lenny coolly, as a matter of fact.

"And just why not?"

"They changed the locks when you left."

The men looked away from one another in awkward silence; finally, Squiggy murmured gruffly: "Well...well, I ain't goin' back to that stupid place anyway, I don't ever wanna see that stupid bitch again."

As Squiggy took to nervous pacing, Lenny wasn't sure if he meant his mother or the girl at the Pizza Bowl. Squiggy had never really been above calling random girls derogatory names, but insulting his mother was a recent development triggered only by chopped apron strings.

Lenny leaned back against the door, letting out a weak sigh. "Hey, I didn't go with that girl, huh? And you're gonna go back to the Pizza Bowl, don't play dumb."

"How's about you try playin' smart once in a while, can you do that, do you know how?" Squiggy took Lenny's irritated glare in his general direction as a no. "That dame was a'sposed to be goin' with me."

"Yes. I am aware."

"She sees one look at you, it's all, uh, Kosnowski, king of the studs over here." 

"I didn't know she'd go for me, how'm I s'posed'a know that!? I mean, between you and me, she goes for _this_?" Lenny motioned to himself with a huff. "Is she _blind_?"

"She must be!"

Lenny squinted, attempting to determine if he had just been insulted by either of the two people in the room.

He shook it off. "Anyways, I didn't do nothin' with that girl on accounta you liked her. I'm no homewrecker."

"Whattayou got that I ain't got, anyhow?"

Lenny wasn't sure if he should answer, but his head reeled for the solution. "Uhm. A foot or so?"

Squiggy looked at him sideways. "Hell you talkin' about, you ain't got three feet."

"No, I meant…I, uh…" Lenny checked his pockets. "I got a bus pass."

"Girls do love a worldly man."

"It's true." Lenny scoffed. "You don't need that stuff though, you have got _plenty_ to offer a woman all on your own."

"I couldn't grow a foot if I tried. I have tried, believe me, it don't work."

“Wait, wh--” Lenny blanked. "Why would you wanna grow a third foot?" 

"No, I--"

For a time, both men stood lost in thoughts of extra appendages, until finally Lenny chimed back in with: "And anyway, that girl, you shouldn't oughta waste feelings on a girl who treats ya that way. She went for me when you're the one that asked her out."

"She did do that, yeah."

"We were both standin' right there, you couldn't have been more polite. You called her a classy dame, and everything."

"Yeah."

"You, uh…" Lenny coughed. "Complimented her physique."

"Is it my approach, do I come on too strong?" 

Lenny took a careful breath. "You want an honest answer?"

He didn't. Squiggy walked a slow path back to Lenny, face locked in thought. And there he stood, just in front of him, eyes down, focused on dirty sneakers. His mind raced hard now, overthinking, until it faded into empty, swirling thoughts of nothing.

"You okay?"

Squiggy blinked hard, remembering why he was standing there. "She called me a worm."

"Yeah, I heard that part."

"Said you oughta take me back home on accounta I clearly ain't housebroken." Listlessly he added, “Can’t even housebreak worms, dunno what the hell she’s talkin’ about.”

"Yeah...yeah, I mighta heard that, too. And uh, think she was goin’ for a dog, like you’re a--"

"Right, sure, yeah. Like you’s all pedigreed over here and I-I'm just your little mutt." 

"Now, listen here.” Lenny grabbed Squiggy by both arms, shaking him just a little. “You are no mutt, Andrew Squiggman! You're a pure-blooded American German, and don't let anybody tell you otherwise, okay?"

For a time, Squiggy stood quiet, motionless. Ah, shit. Lenny had lost him. He'd lost him, he was sure, as he wove a hand before stone-cold eyes to gain attention.

"Squig?"

All at once, Squiggy's head collapsed hard against Lenny's chest, where he proceeded to let out a long and agonized groan of frustration.

”Yeah,” Lenny sighed. His hand moved instinctively to the top of Squiggy's head, stroking gently. "Yeah, I know."

"I hate everything and everybody." There held a slight sorrow in the declaration, and Lenny, well-versed in Squiggy, felt there were veiled words he meant to say, but couldn't pin them down. _Everybody hates me._

The fingers stroking Squiggy's head traveled to his back. "Not everybody. Ya don't hate me all that much." _I don't hate you._

Squiggy's breath held a moment; head still planted firm to Lenny's chest, he eked out softly: "That don't count for nothin'."

"Sure it…sure it does! Hey, look at me, wouldja?" Lenny forced Squiggy's head up by the chin, cementing eye contact. "She was too good for you, anyway, huh?" 

The men considered the statement, finding something off in it.

Lenny sputtered in correction. "U-uh, no, that's not--" 

"Hey, Len, ya know somethin'?" spoke Squiggy softly, displaying all at once a level of gentility so often withheld from public scrutiny.

"What's that?"

"I'll never be too good for you."

Lenny smiled a crooked sort of smile. "Yeah?" A hand returned to the back of Squiggy's head, careless and easy. Upon Squiggy returning a smile, soft and honest, Lenny leaned so as to fall their heads light together, and they both sank into comfortable laughter.

Their laughter grew into a giddy fit of giggles clear of explanation. Both had lost sight of whatever joke had prompted the display, and it didn’t seem to matter. The atmosphere was heavy, and breaking tension was a mandatory reflex. It was always so much easier to laugh; it felt worlds better than all the other feelings spinning wild circles in their brains.

Somehow though, as was often chance to happen, brains knocked hard on feelings, loud and unavoidable, forcing laughter slow and soft and awkward.

Until they weren't laughing anymore. And Lenny's hand lay still behind Squiggy's head, fingers clinging just a touch, struggling to move. And they were here again. _Close_. Too close.

Squiggy's hand fell to the side of Lenny's face, and Lenny, not one for emotional restraint, was quick to welcome him, leaning into warm fingers.

Squiggy nearly pulled away, but stayed. Close. Close enough to feel the heat of staggered breaths. _Too close._ His head turned, forcing accidents, brushing light his mouth past loose lips before pulling back to taste the heat an inch away. _Not close enough._

Lenny nearly buckled, but held steady. They'd gone from slamming doors, to laughing, to…to _this_ in a matter of no time at all. How?

What now?

Someone should do something.

Someone should say something.

"Squig...you know it’s okay if...if you wan--"

Squiggy let out one long, hard breath against Lenny's lips-- then turned to quickly walk away, voicing a weak decree of, "Ah, stupid."

Lenny swallowed firm; he held back sound, hand against his mouth, and nodded knowingly. He tucked away the unspoken and unfelt. There would be another day, he knew, just like all the days before and all those lost to time. Nothing was simple. It never was.

"Yeah. Stupid."


	2. Spit On It

"Truth or dare?"

The whispered giggles of high school girls drifted about a circle of freshly painted nails and frilly night-clothes. All eyes set on Shirley Feeney who, jaw lightly gaped and mind wandering, grinned sheepishly, hugging knees to chest. "Oh. Oh, me? I pass."

"Ya can't pass!" cried an especially vocal ginger-haired girl on the opposite side of the circle. "Truth or dare, no passin'."

Laverne DeFazio's fist shook casually in the air; silence. "She said she's passing. I'll take truth."

"Okay, DeFazio wants truth." A pause for effect, then: "Word is you're a little, uh…hot to trot."

Shirley's gasp was audible. "Whose word?! Who has said these words about Laverne? Why, I'll wring their little _mmph_ \--"

Laverne planted a hand flat against Shirley's mouth. "What's the question, already?"

"How many guys? And we do want names."

Laverne thought; she hesitated. She nearly spoke. "W…well--" Then she thought again, her face contorting as she counted on her free hand, the other still on Shirley's mouth. She retrieved it now, counting on both hands, eliciting a look of utter terror from Shirley. "There was...well, no, that don't count. Well, technically, I guess…"

Shirley had had enough. "Did someone say next turn?"

Laverne gave Shirley a look and scolded low, "Nobody said nothin'."

"My turn." The shapely blonde to the other side of Laverne wore a sly grin. "Make it a good one, huh? This could be our last sleepover, don't give me something dumb, make it a real whopper."

A voice from the circle spoke through a sigh. “C’mon, Sheila, you’ve already done everything.”

Weakly she argued, “I most certainly have not!” Sheila’s eyes drifted to freshly painted powder-pink fingernails, blowing on them softly. “Not _everything_ …a lady has limits.”

Shirley’s eyes narrowed as she spoke to herself. “Smut, that’s all they think about, is smut.”

“Well, okay, Shirley, what do you suggest?” asked Sheila. “Maybe I’m all worn out on fellas, anyway. And, uh...maybe I’ve worn ‘em all out.” She laughed cheekily, to which half the circle gladly joined in on the fun.

“Come on!” whined Shirley. “Enough of that! Why, there’s all kinds of filth-free fun!”

“Name it.”

“Well, we could put toilet paper all over-- no, that’s so _mean_ , it takes forever to clean up, and if it rains you’ve got a terrible mess. Well...well, a good ding dong ditch is always tons of fun!”

The room supplied Shirley with silent stares. Perhaps they were considering her suggestion! Perhaps she had gotten through to--

“Okay, Sheila, I got one for ya.”

Shirley sank back. She supposed Rosie was not about to suggest a good old fashioned ding dong ditch.

“I dare you to ask out the grossest, most vile guy in school.” Oohs and ahhs arose from the circle. “And ya can’t just ask, you gotta go through with it.”

Laverne, to her credit, had taken a hand to Shirley’s shoulders, drawing comforting, soft circles. These were _not_ their people. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake.

Sheila sucked air in through her teeth, thinking. “ _Me_ ask _him_? And actually go out with the guy?”

The room's attention was stolen all at once by a quick knock upon a window.

"Not the boys again," whined one of the girls.

Sheila smirked, bouncing to her feet. "I'll fix their wagon." She motioned the group to hush, tip-toeing towards the source of continued patter-pits against glass. Once there, and having glanced quick enough to spy their unwelcome guests, she whipped open the window, leaning forward with a wide grin. "Hi, there! Looking for this?"

There came then a yelp, followed by a crash. Satisfied, Sheila slammed the window shut, returning to the group with a wicked grin.

"What was that?” asked Shirley. “What happened? What did you do?!"

There fell excited chatter amongst the group upon Sheila's casual reply of: "I flashed him."

"You flashed him your bra?!"

Just as casually, she replied, "I'm not wearin' a bra."

Uproarious laughter befell the majority. Shirley asked flatly, "Well, who was it?"

Sheila rolled her tongue against her cheek thoughtfully. "Eh. Just some jerk.”

* * *

"What happened up there?! Squiggy, ya gotta say somethin’!"

From his place flat upon the ground, Andrew Squiggman took a slow, deep breath. "A miracle, Lenny. A miracle happened."

Leonard Kosnowski’s eyes shot towards a second-story window; he looked back to his crest-fallen friend, a slow trickle of blood tracing the side of his face. Wounded in battle. "You fell off that ladder pretty hard, Squig." Lenny knelt down, hands falling to Squiggy's temple. "You musta bumped your head, but good…"

"Get your hands offa me!" Squiggy shoved him away, hoisting himself up. Dizzy, he held his head as he spoke. “Second-Base Sheila.”

“Sheila Rosenberg?”

“You know another Second-Base Sheila? She showed up like an angel and gave me the gift of melons!"

"She gave ya fruit?"

Squiggy stared at Lenny for a moment, finding his face straight, his question entirely earnest...when all at once Lenny cracked, cackling at his little joke.

Squiggy groaned. "Why the hell do I hang out with you?" He turned heel. "Fruit, he says…"

Lenny carried on snickering lightly as he followed. "So, how were her tits?"

* * *

“Ask out the window guy.” Whoever made the suggestion created a snowball, as voices echoed around the circle, finally landing on Rosie.

“Hey, yeah, any creeps peepin’ in windows have gotta be bottom of the barrel. You didn’t get a good look at ‘em?”

“Well,” said Sheila, “I guess I mighta seen his face.”

“C’mon, who was it?”

Sheila hesitated. “Uh. Nah, the window guy’s no good, huh? Howsabout the guy who always picks his teeth with his pencil, you know that guy?”

“Must have been a real doozy at the window. Well, that settles it, then. C’mon, spit it out!”

“Well...well, I...it was…Andrew.”

“You gotta be more specific than that! There’s football Andrew, science club Andrew--”

“Oh!” came a voice. “There’s Andrew Coleman!”

Another girl groaned. “You think a history teacher was sneakin’ in the window?”

“ _Squiggman_!” Sheila practically shouted the name. “It was Andrew Squiggman, okay!?”

“Squiggy?!”

There seemed a great deal of excitement at this revelation, voices overlapping in encouragement. Well yes, indeed, Sheila _must_ ask out the window guy if the window guy was _Squiggy_ of all people, it was meant to be, and she couldn’t go back on a dare. What would she do? What would she say?

“Well. Well, sure, I guess.”

Squeals and giddy laughter filled the room amongst words of encouragement and excitement. “It’s perfect, he’s the worst!” “Are you gonna _kiss him_?” “Imagine his face when you tell him it was all a big joke!”

"You can't do that," came a small voice. Nobody heard; she spoke once more, just a little louder. “ _You can’t do that_!”

The room fell still. Silent. Everybody stared, awaiting more from Shirley, which didn't seem forthcoming. She hadn't been prepared for more, her morality a gut reflex.

"Just why not, pray tell?" coaxed Rosie.

It was Laverne who answered. "C'mon, Greenbaum, ya can't be that big of a jerk." She nodded reassuringly at a mute Shirley. “Now, just what’s goin’ on here? You’re all a bunch of animals, ain’t we classier than this?” Gaining only weak murmurs in reply, she gestured to the room, landing on Sheila. "None of you can be this stupid. Do you really wanna go and hurt that boy? There's a difference between easy and crummy, and you, Sheila Rosenberg, if you go through with this, well...well, you're a crumb if I ever saw one."

Shirley’s smile grew wide as she shook Laverne lightly, in celebratory fashion. That was _her best friend._ Hers, she was claiming her!

"Who invited the squares?" fell a random whisper.

Sheila, however, having met eyes with Laverne, appeared reflective. Thoughtful. Then--

"He’s a jerk. Who cares? He gets a date, we all get a laugh, it's a good business deal."

"Yeah, but he's a certain way," said Shirley at last. "I just thought… Ain't he a certain way? I mean, he's disgusting and mean and filthy and crude and I hate his guts and I would never in a million years--"

Laverne touched her shoulder lightly. "Thanks, Shirl, ya wanna finish that thought?"

"I just mean to say that, well…even the dumbest of animals are still God's creatures and don't deserve to be hurt."

* * *

Squiggy whistled to himself as he walked an imaginary tightrope down the length of sidewalk leading to his apartment. Lenny trailed a slow line beside him, hands shoved in his pockets, thinking light thoughts.

"Hey, Squig, y'know what you oughta do?"

Squiggy wobbled. "He-ey watch it, you're throwin' off my balance, here!"

"Oh, sorry." Lenny lent a hand, linking fingers with Squiggy for imaginary balance in his imaginary circus act as they continued walking. "I was just thinkin', Squig, this bein' our last year’a school and all--”

“God willing.”

"His will be done. Our last _hoorah_ if you will, it's the last crack really at a lot of these girls."

"I asked Shirley Feeney out again, she said no. Again."

"Nah, I mean other girls. Shirley ain't goin' no place, she's one a them stick-around types. I was thinkin' you oughtta ask out Sheila."

Squiggy stopped abruptly, forgetting his tightrope as he spun to face Lenny, who gestured wildly to the ground in concern that he had fallen to his death.

"You're tellin' me--" Squiggy looked to his hand, still clasped to Lenny's; he shook it free. "You're tellin' me that you think that I oughta ask out Second-Base Sheila?"

"Yeah."

"Are you outta your mind?"

Lenny thought about it. "I don't think so."

"What makes you think a girl like that'll go with me in a bajillion years?"

Momentarily stunned by the question, indeed at hearing Squiggy debate the logistics of taking a crack at _any_ girl, Lenny fumbled for a reasonable response. "Well. Well, she did just show you the most intimate portion of the upper half of her body."

Squiggy pursed his lips in thought. "Yeah. Yeah, she did do that." He carried on walking.

"So take your shot, I'm tellin' ya!"

"Maybe so…"

"Maybe...definitely." Lenny turned, grasping a distracted Squiggy by the arm. "Your house."

The two swerved a familiar path up broken concrete steps, entering a well-worn apartment building.

They walked just a little slower.

It was then, in the clarity of artificial light, that something flicked on in Squiggy's brain. His feet ground to a halt as he supplied a backhand to Lenny's chest. "And just why, all'a the sudden, are you so interested in my love life for, all'a the sudden? Ain't like you're swimmin' in women. Tend your own crops, why don'tcha?!" He smacked him once again.

Lenny, irritated at such a passive beating, held up a hand in warning. "Maybe I'm just…concerned."

" _Concerned_?"

"You ain't asked out a girl in at least a month, it's like your flirt button broke."

"I ain't broken!" Squiggy shuffled his feet as he walked again, kicking air. "I just…I ain't interested in no schoolgirls right now as a matter a fact, they's all too _childish_ for me."

Squiggy had taken to supplying a quick knock to each apartment door he passed.

"Pft," chided Lenny, skittering to catch Squiggy's quickening pace. "Too childish?"

A door behind the boys' trail opened post-knock, followed by a woman's irritated scolding. "Andrew, cut the crap! We was eatin' dinner!" There followed a string of angry, unintelligible Italian.

Squiggy murmured briefly in apology before returning to Lenny. "I'm aboutta graduate. I'm a man of culture, I require…a more cultured woman, is all."

"Culture? I seem to recall a certain Andrew Squiggman who went out with a certain Thompson twin on accounta she played the trombone."

Squiggy's eyes shifted. He coughed, mumbling, "Musicians is cultured. I appreciate the arts."

"She sounded _terrible_! You went out with her on accounta you thought horn players would give better head."

"A scientific experiment! And anyway, that was a long time ago."

"It was last month." Lenny sniggered, adding, "I don't see no, uh, thesis. Guess you didn't get much scientific data."

"Hey! That girl…she was all over m--" Lenny was giving him that look. That smug, satisfied little smile he made every time he was right about something. "Shut up."

"Ah, c'mon, Squig. So ya strike out a few times, that ain't no reason to give up."

Squiggy's feet stopped at his own door; he leaned against it with a sigh. "Will ya just lay off it, Len, I'm tellin' ya--" He jolted, a loud _slam_ hitting the wood against his back.

Lenny snatched him away. "Is he home, or is your ma just rage-breaking the apartment again?"

Muffled screams from inside followed, answering the question. They were both home. They were both angry.

Squiggy huffed in irritation, starting down the reverse trail that had led him here. "Screw this."

But the door opened. A slurred voice followed, gruff and irritated. "The hell you been, you know what time it is?"

Squiggy didn't turn to look at him.

Lenny, however, had held his place, and was staring down week-long stubble and 90% alcohol.

"It really ain't that late, yet, sir." Speaking to Squiggy's step-father was a mistake, Lenny knew, and the look he now received was less than kind.

The man spoke with eyes still firmly affixed to Lenny. "Andy, I want your ass home within an hour. Get your ma's cigarettes and a bottle'a--"

"Get'm yerself, I ain't your little errand boy." A hand pulled against Squiggy's ear, hard, forcing him around to meet cold eyes.

"You got somethin' to say?"

Squiggy made himself tall…then backed down. "No."

"Didn't think so. Cigarettes. Whiskey."

"I ain't allowed--"

"Do it anyway."

"With what money?"

With a grumble, crumpled bills flew against the floor. He retreated for the door, looking Lenny back over with a huff. "Told ya once, told ya a thousand times, don't bring that shit here. This is a good Christian household, understand?"

A voice from inside called out. "Leave Lenny alone, he's a nice boy!"

Lenny responded softly, too soft to hear. "Thank you, Mrs. Squiggman."

One quick sneer and a slam of the door later, Lenny rushed to meet Squiggy where he walked a beeline away from the apartment.

"Boy, he's the worst. He still givin' you trouble that bad?" Lenny received no reply. "Yeah, well. Sorry. Wanna go to my place?"

Squiggy didn't answer; he sniffled. Lenny knew this was as close as he would come to an emotional display in this moment, and did his best to soothe rough edges, rubbing a shoulder as they walked.

Squiggy shook Lenny's hand away. "Don't touch me." He stopped walking, thinking hard thoughts. "Okay, I'll ask her out."

"Ask who out?"

"Second-Base Sheila!"

"Oh! Pft. Betcha won't."

Squiggy's face pulled so hard from confusion, it could have stuck. "You was the one what told me to do it!"

Lenny spat on a hand, sticking it out towards Squiggy in offering. "You ask her out, see what happens. But if ya spit, ya gotta do it."

Squiggy did not hesitate in spitting against his own palm, placing it firm atop Lenny's.

Retrieving his hand, Squiggy grimaced a touch, wiping mixed saliva against the front of his shirt. "Yccch."

"Ahh, c’mon," said Lenny.

"You could be diseased, for all I know."

"Ain't like it's the first time we swapped spit, or nothin'."

Cautiously, the boys looked to one another, faces forced blank...until at last Squiggy cleared his throat and took to walking once again, Lenny ever at his heel.

* * *

"I don't know how you even talked me into that stupid slumber party, Laverne."

Laverne, two rolled sleeping bags flung over her shoulders, kept a brisk pace down a dim sidewalk, matching agitated feet. “Shirl, what am I, a pack mule?”

“I told you we shoulda called for a ride. I’m sure your father would have understood.”

"Ha!" Laverne stopped her walking, forcing Shirley still. " _My_ father? You know the kinda lecture I'd get? 'Why you go and walk home half dressed for, why you hangin' around with bad girls for, stay home and call that nice boy from church and your grandmother too while you're at it, she never hears from you no more, what, are you too good for her?'"

Shirley considered. "My mother, then."

"Your mother don't lecture, all of a sudden?"

Shirley clicked tongue against teeth. "How's about we keep walkin' to Carmine's."

"Not like this, I'm not." Laverne indicated the load she was carrying.

Shirley offered a soft smile in apology. "Yes, of course, how silly of me." She retrieved her own bag, preceding to whack Laverne firmly in the side with it. “That was the worst slumber party we’ve ever been to!!”

Laverne was too busy flinching in pain to respond.

“Those weren’t even our friends, we stuck out like sore thumbs!” In emphasis, Shirley waved her thumbs about. “Sore thumbs, I tell you!”

“If you would shut up for two seconds, and let me talk, here!”

Composure. Shirley took a deep breath. Then another. She took in her surroundings. The cool, darkening evening enveloping them. The soft light of a street lamp, gently illuminating the sidewalk on which they stood. And she in her slippers, overcoat draped about pajamas, looking a complete and total fool.

Thinking back, they really ought not to have left quite so abruptly. Perhaps dressing would have made sense. They were impassioned, at the time. Against the cruelty of high school pranks. Against catty girls and their mean taunts. So they stormed out. They were making a statement.

At least Shirley's nightie fell below the knee.

“Now, Shirl…"

"Hm?" Shirley pulled her eyes away from Laverne's kneecaps.

"Nancy and Donna, those two girls with the _huh-huh_?"

"With the _hm-hm_ , yes."

"They invited me. They said to bring you. Maybe...maybe I just wanted to fit in for a second.”

“With the class tramps?”

“ _No_ , not with the cla--” Laverne took a deep breath. “With the popular people. Those are _popular_ people, Shirley, I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself lately, but--”

“What?! We’re plenty popular! Why, we’ve got loads of friends! We’ve got the Debs, haven’t we?”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

She didn’t. As Shirley watched Laverne storm away from her, she truly didn’t understand. “Well…well, certainly you don’t wanna be friends with all those girls after tonight, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Laverne called back. Shirley was quickly walking beside her, face locked in a devastated sort of shock. “Shirl, I hate it when you make that face, you know I hate it."

"After we watched 'em behave that way? After they admitted they were gonna treat poor Squiggy like a sack of dirt?"

Laverne sneered a little. "Poor Squiggy? Poor Squiggy, she says. You punched the guy in the gut last week."

"Well, he deserved it! He'd made passes all day. He followed me clear through the lunch line making little kissy sounds, how's a person supposed to keep an appetite? He did that disgusting little thing he always does with the--"

"Poooor Squiggy," mocked Laverne. Then she stopped walking, holding back Shirley with an arm. "Wouldja speak of the devil."

The devil had noticed them, having lightly kicked the back of his minion, who sat one step below on their stoop of choice. "Why, Lenny, we do appear to have company."

Lenny looked up, granting the girls a crooked smile. "Hey, yeah!"

"It would appear, Lenny, that they's undressin' us with their eyes. They even dressed for the occasion!"

Lenny laughed. "Wanna come sit with us, Laverne?" Squiggy kicked his back again. "A-and Shirley?"

Shirley narrowed eyes, closing her coat taut about her.

"Thanks for the offer," said Laverne.

Lenny waited a bit too long before realizing he had been declined. "Maybe next time," he conceded. Quickly he added, "We can meet at my stoop next time. My stoop is _so_ much nicer than this." With a French kiss he emphasized this point. "Cream dollar cream of stoops, I promise."

Laverne looked to the sidewalk in confusion, then offered a polite smile. "Thanks, Lenny, I'll keep that in mind. Hey, Squiggy."

"Hey, what?"

"Get over here."

Wide-eyed, Shirley spoke silent words of protest in Laverne's general direction before turning to ear whispers. "Just _what_ do you think you are doing?!"

"Tell him."

"I can't--!"

"You're not gonna shut up about this until you make it right. Look at that face, wouldja?"

Shirley spun a quick circle, jolting back from Squiggy's very-close face, which stared at her in a typically dumbfounded way, jaw gingerly agape.

"Tell him."

Shirley frowned, whining her frustrations in one solidly shriek pitch.

"You okay, you broken?"

She looked upon Squiggy then, softly, deliberately. He had asked the question so sincerely, his face holding surprisingly little sign of ill or perverted will, that she had somehow fallen into sudden ease. Okay.

"Hey, uh…hey, Squiggy?"

"Yes, my pet?"

Shirley turned to Laverne with a grimace, whisper-whining in dismay: "He's making this so difficult, why does he have to be so--!"

Laverne spun her back around, where Shirley found Squiggy a bit more tense, brow furrowed in concern, hands restlessly fidgeting.

"Okay." Shirley recentered, rehearsing briefly in her head, then cleared her throat. "Squiggy...beware Sheila Rosenberg."

What? Dumbfounded, Squiggy stared at Shirley Feeney, allowing the ominous nature of her words to sink in. " _Beware_ …?"

"Sheila Rosenberg."

"What, is she a vampire or somethin', she uh, she the creature from the black legume, what is this?"

"No, no. No, she's not a…a monster, not a literal one like in the movies. But she does want to hurt you, Squiggy, very badly."

"Awh, get off it." He scoffed dismissively, turning, finding the issue forced by a firm yank against his arm to pull him back.

"We were at that slumber party tonight, the one you tried to sneak a peek at. After you were gone, the other girls dared Sheila to go out with you for a laugh, a big joke, so you oughtta not go with her, is all. I just thought you oughtta know."

"Why?"

"Wh…why what? They're just mean girls, Squiggy. You deserve better." Shirley grimaced at her own words. No, he didn't. Did he?

"Not them. You. Why are you tellin' me all this, what's it to ya?"

Oh. Shirley hadn't been prepared for this question, faced now with a quandary in the midst of this confrontation. Having quickly ruled out unreasonable replies such as, ' _Because you're my friend,_ ' and ' _because I care about you,_ ' her brain raced for the truth.

_'Because even the dumbest of animals_ \--' No, probably not the best option.

Okay, how about this? "Because it's not right, what they're doing. Nobody deserves to be hurt that way. It doesn't matter if we like each other or not--"

"I like you."

"Yes, I know, thank you. Just…please, heed my warning. Don't go out with Sheila, okay?"

Squiggy gave a half-hearted shrug in response, and with this the girls carried on down the sidewalk.

Squiggy's walk back towards Lenny was slow.

"That was downright peculiar," spoke Lenny. "Think you oughtta listen ta her?" He grew distracted, watching long legs disappear down the sidewalk; it took awhile for him to register that Squiggy, having finally returned to the step just above his, was less than responsive. "Squig? Hey. Hey, you wanna go back to my place, maybe? Can't sit here all night."

"Wouldn't wanna intrude."

"It’d just be my dad, he won't bother us none."

"Sure your dad don't want a quiet night to hisself, cryin' inta his TV dinner for one?"

Lenny quaked a bit. “Wow. Gee, really? S’pose we go back to your place and listen to your mother cry in the shower all night while you bring her more beer.”

“Once, that was one time!”

“Hey, Squig?”

“Hey, what.”

“Make fun of my dad again, just try it.”

Squiggy was not about to try it. This was a stupid game, pitting parents, and one they only ever played when there was bad blood between the two of them.

This confused Lenny. What bad blood was there? They weren't fighting, were they? Had he missed something? At any rate, it couldn’t have been anything serious. He wasn’t sure why Squiggy had decided to throw the first punch, but he’d gone soft. If things were really sour, they’d have both gone for the jugular.

The parents who were no longer there.

That rarely happened. Those words were always carefully crafted, designed to hurt, and not so easily forgotten.

They didn’t really want to hurt each other tonight.

“I’m sorry.” It was easy for Lenny to apologize; indeed, a gut impulse. He did too much of it, letting too much slide, taking too much blame, and part of him knew this. He also knew he was owed an apology, but didn’t expect one.

Squiggy had taken to staring at the ground, making every bit of him as hard to read as ever. Until at last, as if he’d made some sort of grand decision, he moved himself to the lower step, directly next to Lenny...far apart at first, then, with a forced sort of casualty, he inched towards him, just close enough to brush legs.

Yeah. Good. Lenny jostled Squiggy’s leg just so, smirking softly to himself.

He moved on then to more important matters. "Ya still gonna ask out Sheila, though?"

"I already spat on it. Ya can't unspit."


End file.
